I lust to be a famous writer. I do!!! But in reality, my drive to write is deeper than outcome. I show up here because the fire Inside gives me no other option. Without putting my heart, mind and BEing into words, life feels like racing tigers, melting into butter, sliding through my stupefied fingers. And I can’t live with that.

I’m pregnant. Sorry if I haven’t told you personally. It’s really friggin early to go around singing it from the mountain tops. I only conceived twenty three days ago. If I had any “sense”, I’d be quiet about it for a while, and just let my poppy seed-sized fetus gestate in blissful anonymity. But gosh… then what would I write about? I have a burning need to cut to the heart of It All… And right now, this is the heart.

Was this a conscious choice?

Yes! And… I was still broadsided by “The Call”. (The soul whispered loud in me.) My ego had other plans. Like always… Back in September, during our trip to the seaside, I was overtaken by deep and sudden urge to bring this strangely familiar, yet concealed by the veil, BEing into the world. This strong feeling left me blinking and seeing neon, dancing stars. I was just getting “my life back”. Serena would start school in a matter of weeks. I would start a solid exercise routine. And write my utterly fabulous memoir. Getting knocked up would be the Setback of the Century!

But my soul’s drive to create family body-slammed my career ambitions. I guess that’s how the human race has made it this far… Imagining Serena as a big sister, I felt this to be essential for her. Strange, because not too long ago, I couldn’t even fathom loving another human being as much as I love her. It didn’t compute. But by the Grace of God… now it does. I was just minding my business… and suddenly my heart expanded. Neat!

Giordano and I both had “trauma” (Haha that word is so popular these days….) around bringing in our first child. He separated with baby mama during her pregnancy, and she didn’t even tell him when she gave birth. He found out three days later. This aches his heart… not to have been able to love his sun into the world. And now, the boy is mostly raised by the mama and her boyfriend. Who have completely different lifestyle and values than Giordano does. Which is often painful for him….

For me, I can’t even believe I survived the heartache I went through during my pregnancy with Serena. Her dad consciously impregnated me…. But then when she took root in my womb, he freaked and asked me if I was sure I wanted to keep her. (Like, “Duh, Stupid!”) Then he had one foot out the door for the whole pregnancy. I barely saw him. I loved being pregnant. It was the most magical and beautiful nine months of my entire life perhaps. Still, my heart bled profusely on a daily basis. Ed showed up for the birth. He held and exquisite masculine space for me. But then at 6am, he left us alone in the hospital, like a party that was over. It was just me and her. For nearly three years.

I consider this a great blessing… mostly. What fortune to have such an INTIMATE experience with a soul who is so cosmically dear to me. Talk about some deeep karma. And it was hard as fuck. To be the breadwinner, the one always holding. Rarely held. I still remember the epic-sized teardrops that spilled from my eyes in the first weeks after she was born. Seriously. They were straight from a monsoon.

I’m digesting this painful life material at a deeper level as I enter this new pregnancy. It sucks to carry it in my heart. I just want it all to burn off like sweet rose petals falling into the sun.

When I shared with Giordano my sudden desire to conceive our child, he was an unwavering yes. Like me, he had surface concerns and questions… but those paled in the light of raw desire and soul-knowing inside him. And when we conceived, his joy was pure and naked as a child’s. This in itself was deeply healing for me.

So now, here I am, in my hella greeeeen pasture…. And still I ache! Oh, blessed hormones. They are profound. And gorgeous in some way. My bodhichitta heart is throbbing, full tilt. Anything and everything moves me to the core.

I feel lonely a lot. Except now… I’m never lonely when I write, because I love hanging out with myself in such a deep, intimate space. Communicating is orgasmic! But just existing day to day… Gosh, it gets old not to have people around me physically, who feel like hOMe (Thank GOD for my smart-assed phone… My connection to some of the most exquisite people on the planet!). But this has been the story of my life since I gave birth… I guess my soul is practicing some sort of potent, rigorous austerity. Like Saint Francis. I think about him, when I’m out walking sometimes… The mountains and bright, fluffy hillsides of Umbria have such a majestic Presence. Which teases my majestic Presence to the surface. They speak. I feel awed to silence and riveted stillness.

Mamas out there? I have a question for you… How do you integrate motherhood with all your other Selves, Dreams, Desires? I see so many women “doing it all”… with such grace and mastery. Over here it looks like such a daunting journey. To be and hold ALL OF IT. I don’t know what elements of my Self and Life to hold onto, fight for… and what to release into the honeyed sky of pure BEing. Not that this inquiry is anything new for me. Haha. It just gets louder as I stand at the precipice of early motherhood once more.

I want to be so much more than just a Mom. I want to be a Source of inspiration and endless faith in Love, for all the world. I want to be a role model of courageous, unbridled authenticity. I want to dream new dreams and build new systems, informed by Unity Consciousness to evolve and transform this World. I guess a huge part of my Desire can live through how I raise and educate my children (and how I hold and care for myself, as their mother). I feel fierce to hold space for them to develop and blossom in alignment with their essence and purpose, rather than sleeping at the wheel while society mashes and grinds them in confining boxes, just because I’m too lazy to take initiative. This calling lives as a daunting responsibility in me. What I need to feel empowered in this domain is to be in conversation and co-creation with other parents who share this mission. The Lone Wolf archetype is a total ball krusher!

Anyway, I’m here inside myself, feeling for a new alignment. And longing for masculine holding. And wondering if it’s just my lot in life to learn how to hold my own damn self. Couldn’t hurt I guess.

On the eve of our Big Day, Giordano ravaged his closet for the most groomish combination he could muster. In the way of pants, all he had (that was clean) was a profoundly casual pair of blue “trousers”. (Haha… Europeans!) He sulked as he announced that they were “ruined”. I never figured out what he meant by that… but my hypothesis is that he was having some pre-game jitters, and eager to indulge in a steaming plate of saucy, Italian-style drama. He put on a white button-down shirt that was suave enough (though he did toss in a token whimper about not having a flower to pin to his breast). It was the JACKET portion of the outfit that really krushed the ball.

All his sport coats looked laughable with his “ruined blue trousers”. Two disparate worlds colliding. He was miserable as he tore through his entire, dusty wardrobe in search of the winning combination. A tickled spectator, I sat on the couch marveling at this previously hidden facet of my darling Ball and Chain (wink). I had zero emotional investment in this scene of the Play. Which infuriated him! He SO wanted me to care. He began to lash out. At one point he told me he hated me.

Some might argue for the undeniable wrongness of such an extreme, poisonous statement…

But I totally got it. This unsightly voice of the wounded feminine has struck out in pain through me too many times to mention. Awash with empathy, I made a concerted effort to shift gears from “being entertained” to “giving a shit”. When he discovered his navy blue wool sailor jacket* in the closet, peace fell upon us like a blanket of snow from the Heavens. He ended up looking pretty damn sexy.

*A quintessential note on the jacket- Giordano bought it with me in Nevada City last year, from a super hip used clothing store called “Solstice”. He fussed for a solid three minutes because the arms were too short, before finally committing to it. He donned it the foggy, early November morning, as he traipsed with a grave face and broken heart across my gravel driveway, laden with suitcases… toward the airport, and then home to Italy, doubting that we’d ever see each other again.

I didn’t show Giordano my wedding outfit until we dressed that morning. He called me “Rockstar”. Guilty as charged;) But the deeper cut, is that I was adorned in bittersweet memories of a life of love lost. Not that love can ever be lost. But I sure have lost some lovers along this messy, fuckin impermanent Journey.

From my ears, hung gigantic, glittering black lightning bolts that my Ma bought me on one of our last outings “to Town”, before her death. I wear them when I want to remember my true identity as an Unstoppable Cosmically Sourced Superheroine.

My dress, a teensy, white and black, form-fitting number that I found in a bag of used clothing passed along to me by the chic teachers at Serena’s school, days before. I guess nothing too bitter about this… but certainly the sweentess of always being given what I need, in the mOMent that I need it. Oh and the sweetness of feeling fabulous in such a miniscule dress!

My slender, strong legs were adorned with my remaining pair of “Dead Dan Tights”. Maybe you’ve been with me since 2012, and peered through the shattered window of Athena Graceland as I navigated the death of my Beloved Dan. My first initiation in the realm of loss. Dan was my lover, best friend and number one fan. In april of 2012, he was kayaking alone near his home in Costa Rica. Navigating especially wild waters, he was thrown from his kayak, smashed his head on rocks, clambered to shore, and inscribed a message to me in the dirt with his final breaths:

“LIVE A”.

Yes, Dan!… Living I AM!

To soothe my thrashed heart, my friend Marty took me to a hip sock shop on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley and treated me to two exciting pairs of tights and two rad pairs of knee-high socks. My leopard tights deteriorated… but the vibrant, blue lace pair are still going strong, and they made my wedding day cut!

What really made the outfit POP, was my Wonder Woman cowgirl boots. I found them in a Western shop in Livermore, of all places. Ed (Serena’s Dad), took me there in the glorious spring of our romance, to buy me a pink cowgirl hat. I swear, these boots pounced on me, and did not let me alone until they were MINE. All three hundred dollars of them. (Ed bought one, and I bought the other.) Like the earrings, they transport me to an elevated state of consciousness. I become a version of myself that towers above the stratosphere and clearly rules the Yoniverse.

Recounting the sacred origins of my wedding day regalia, the tenderest rooms of my heart are flung wide open and I could easily crumple in an emotional heap and grieve the loss of Ones who mattered THE MOST and now seem so far. The hella friendly ghosts of my crushingly blessed past. Ed is not dead yet. But I have not fully digested the agonies and the ecstasies he sparked in my soul. In fact, you should know that I just afforded myself the luxury of resting my face in my hands and letting loose deep, tearful cries. I’m in a busy cafe. There’s a good chance nobody even noticed. People, myself included, are too busy being the center of their own damn universes. It’s incredible to be here… on this hella crowded dance floor, otherwise known as Earth.

Gosh, I was so scared to publish my last blog. Though I poured my heart out in a comprehensive fashion, ONE single facet stuck me like a poison dart: The confession that I probably wouldn’t marry Giordano if I had money. I felt so vulnerable offering that shard of my inner life up.

Then came the near-erotic thrill, the loss of control that is clicking “publish”. Then Giordano’s eyes imbibing said confession. He made his way deeper into this heart when he replied, smirking, “So you’re marrying me for money?… I don’t have money! Just one house from my family, who crush the ball every day.”

We both had a good laugh.

It’s true… If I was marrying a man “for money”, I made the worst possible choice. Money has been so scarce lately, since Giordano has started engaging in the all-consuming task of picking olives. It wasn’t until a few days ago that he found the time and money to purchase a cheap silver wedding band. My adventures at the grocery store have been to the tune of “how much nutrient dense juice can I squeeze out of a twenty euro bill?”….

I am marveling at the power of raw, unfiltered honesty. Saying the stuff that I am most scared to say… and POOF!, I am free. (Sometimes. Other times I just get myself into relational trouble…) It no longer festers inside me. Like a thick fog, it silently screams as it sucks, hopeless, into the blazing Source of light. I swear, after I posted my last blog, I softened deeper in love with Giordano.

Listen to this!….

I actually feel delighted to be marrying him. Marriage feels like an unprecedented adventure. One of those passages that must be lived through, fully felt and tasted. Not just read about in a book, or heard tell of around a campfire. (Or sipping coffee in mismatched reclining chairs with my Ma, as she recounted snippets of her two emotionally unsatisfying marriages, during what I didn’t realize then was the tail-end of her life…)

Am I just hella in love with him because I barely see him these days?… I have so much time to miss him.. And then he comes home like a sunkissed war hero, smelling of utterly tantalizing incense. Seriously. He’s the most deliciously scented creature I’ve ever encountered. From the heat of his strong, active body, wafts a hypnotic synthesis of pheromones, pine and earth, fire and pristine alpine spring water, spilling from the heart of creation.

It always tickles when he says, “I can’t wait to hug in the bed.” An american man would never say anything so charming. It’s totally not an innuendo. He just cherishes the simple pleasure of our warm, naked bodies entwined at bedtime. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of his adorable italian translations. Nor his innocent relishing of fundamental existence.

Giordano’s unwavering, rarefied, devotional love is healing me. I didn’t realize how war-ravaged I was, after a five year affair with a married man, to whom I gave my whole self… and had a child with. (Three cheers for raw, unfiltered Life Experience!) The trauma of settling for Ed’s pathetic crumbs became a normalized experience in me. Which of course stemmed from the glories of a having an emotionally immature father who prioritized world travel and eventually another family, over precious little me. I am still discovering forsaken and shy territories of my heart I boarded shut in order to endure the pain of it all. Slowly, they melt open in the sunlight of Giordano’s wildly imperfect, though incredibly sincere and miraculously steady love.

I’m also becoming a whiz at navigating his wounded little boy, (It is still hard work though!!!) which would indicate that I am loving myself pretty well…. Plus, learning/practicing emotional restraint. I still go up in flames on the inside when he goes off the deep end emotionally, over what occurs for me as the pettiest shit. I’m learning to breathe more and speak less. And attune to his deeper needs and more subtle communication. Hooray for me. Seriously. Though it will be heavenly when he graduates to the level of being able to advocate for himself with maturity and consciousness…. The fuckin Italians…. So damn emotional… and not a lot of personal growth courses over here….

One of Giordano’s strengths is bringing humor and lightness to otherwise suffocatingly dense moments. My work is to soften into his invitation to laugh and let go. Of course I reserve the right to hold on, punish and drive my point home when I feel like he hasn’t gotten the message or the medicine…. But mostly this hurts me more than him. We ARE pretty comical in our heated moments. Two giant babies flailing our fat little arms and stomping our squishy little feet. Utterly riveted by our emotions and points of view.

Yeah, I’m really jazzed to be married! I wanna see what this wife business is all about.

“GETTING” married on the other hand…. This is not such a thrilling facet of the jewel for me. The Big Event goes down in three days. I don’t have a dress. I might just pull some halfway decent garment from my closet. Giordano’s story is the same. It’s supposed to rain. We haven’t had the luxury of time to synch up and create meaningful vows together. 99.999% of my friends are far, far away. I mean I managed to shake loose from the fever dream of my perfect fairytale wedding years ago… but THIS… my wedding day is shaping up to be the polar opposite. Hopefully the event will make for a good story. This is what matters most to me deep down.

I dedicated that last paragraph to self-pity! It felt awesome. But I DO want you to know that of ALL people in my world, my Cosmic Dad will be in attendance. He will “give me away”. An insatiable Sagittarius type, he just happened to be traveling through Europe, and swung our way to imbibe in the Hella Holy Matrimony. So I guess in reality, my glass is actually half full. The man who has seen me through the course of my entire “adulthood” will be with me for this substantial rite of passage. Whoopie.

I can’t wait to report back to you and divulge the dirty deets of my hella special day. May it be an ecstatic, messy, perfectly imperfect Unfolding, colored by outrageous characters, intriguing nuance and mind-blowing realness. Yee-haw!

On moonday morning, Giordano, Serena and I drove into the Italian-er-than-Thou little town down the hill from our home, to submit our paperwork, in hopes of being awarded a date for marriage. Legions of butterflies messed about inside me for myriad reasons. Reading bureaucratically persuaded websites is *not* my forte, so I wondered if we had all the documents required. One thing they HAD clarified at the US Consulate in Rome, when we visited a couple weeks ago (to obtain my sworn statement of single status), was that we must marry before my visa expires. Which happens at the end of this month. Zoiks!

Our pilgrimage to the Wizard of Holy Matrimony required Giordano to miss a morning of work. These days he is in hot and heavy preparation for a massive olive harvest. His head is nowhere above water in the way of tasks he must accomplish. Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered someone with so many dangling, disperate obligations. My mom at the end of her life, perhaps…

But the point is, the unwieldy pile of my Husband-To-Be’s searing tasks sure brings out some brassy notes in the man. He already tends toward the anxious shades of the rainbow. As I drove our little white Fiat, “Penis Ray-Ray” along the twisty, one way streets into the center of the village, he spit aggressive, critical directions at me. I don’t have much tolerance for this facet of him. As an empath, I too quickly get inflamed and agitated, and perfectly awesome moments are spoiled by excessive heat and unkindness.

We parked down a hill from the “Common”, and I held Serena’s hand as she made her way up the steep, cobblestone road. Apparently we were not fast enough for Giordano and in his broken five year old fashion, he let us know (nagging, crabby mumbling, slicing insults). In my world, we had plenty of time, as it wasn’t even nine o’clock (when the office opened). I was jazzed that Serena wanted to walk alone, as she often prefers, like a lazy, cumbrous Pygmy Queen, to be carried.

I have a lot to say still, so I’m gonna pick up the pace. But what you must know, is that by the time we arrived in the stale-cigarette-scented foyer outside the matrimonial office, Giordano and I were not on speaking terms. When the disarmingly kind and casual italian lady opened her pearly gate for us, we were like two repelled magnets. I wouldn’t even look at him.

We shelled out our paperwork and I was half surprised, half relieved, half mortified to discover that we had all we needed, and would be able to secure a wedding day. Whoa. We asked for October 28th. Two days before my visa expires. According to my astrologically savvy friend Anitra, that is the smoothest, most palatable day available to us, given our restricted timeline. They were reticent to work on a Sunday. But a hundred euros and a relaxed sphincter later, they agreed.

We stepped back out onto the street transformed.

That sentence gets to be its own paragraph, because it definitely stands alone. I am not quite sure of the “behind the scenes” energetics of the matter…. But it was a palpable shift to have a wedding date and time. Thankfully, we were both softened. We stepped into an adjacent bar, and Giordano ordered us cappuccinos. I can’t get right with the culture of drinking such heavenliness standing up, in less that three seconds. I savored spoonfuls of thick, decadent foam, while Giordano teased me for taking my time.

And for my next splendid, death-defying act, ladies and gentlemen, I shall bare my messy insides for you all to gawk at and secretly relate to.

I never imagined that getting married would be strewn with such a wild swizzle of unruly emotions. Repulsion, excitement, love, powerlessness, curiosity, fear, turn-on…

From my insider’s view, I can clearly see how much collective meaning “We” place on marriage. It means “forever”. It means “so in love”. “Happily ever after”. “The One”.

It means none of that for me. It’s more like, I am just doing what needs to be done to move forward on my cryptic Path through the billowing fields of Enlightenment. I have been groping to come to terms with it all.

Would I marry Giordano if I was financially free? Probably not. I am marrying him as a single mom who needs help, and he is the flawed Angel that God sent me. I feel a primal fear in telling it so straight. But as a writer, slicing straight into unflattering truths is the verdant river valley of good writing.

And honestly, no matter how flawed my Angel is, my bottom line is that he supports me in showing up on the page and singing out the unfiltered mess of my Existence. Which is what I live for. And I guess that’s the heart of the matter for me. My soon-to-be-Husband understands and supports my dharma. Even if it means that he occasionally gets chewed up and spit out on the page. He may act like a wounded little boy too often. But holding space for me to be my fullest expression as a writer, even at his occasional “expense”, is a powerful stand to take.

The density of my Life Material these days often feels unbearable. Okaaay, that was dramatic. I have it great, in so many ways. But as a woman who aspires to sovereignty and full-throttle empowerment, this is a very confronting life to be living. I struggle to find a powerful place to stand. I feel small in so many ways these days. Living in a foreign country where I don’t speak the language… Having few friends to commune with. Marrying a man who I am constantly having to teach and train and tolerate.

I can never say that last bit without following it up by how loving he is. Giordano is so genuinely invested in my (and Serena’s) happiness, delight and wellbeing. For example, he went way the fuck out of his way yesterday to ask his Baby Mama if we could stay in her rental apartment in Assisi next weekend, so that I could partake in a yoga festival happening right across the street. While he sweats and bleeds and cries, picking thousands of olives to press into oil…

I guess the moral of this story is that on the INside, it occurs like all I can do is surrender to my Path. I have written recently about my perceived lack of choice in the matter of my life. Like I’m just stepping into what splays open before me, with as much dignity, joy and willingness as I can muster. Squeeze as much Trust out of my nearly-empty toothpaste tube as humanly possible.

Trusting that all this is right. Trusting that this is all Grace. Trusting that this is exactly what I need to evolve. Trusting that these are the perfect conditions for me to blossom open AS LOVE and embody the Master that I AM. Living in said trust is a tall order, as my life is NOT unfolding as I imagined it would. Not that I ever fully imagined my unfolding… But life as I know it has bled way outside the lines of Collective Conditioning. It’s not the stuff that “Happily Ever After” is made of.

Thankfully, I AM the stuff that Happily Ever After is made of… If only I allow myself to relax into this unassailable ISness. I suppose this is the hidden cheese, wrapped in the bitter pill of my life. Haha!

Last night, to celebrate the full moon, we had a fire outside. Like the citizens of Jerusalem at the time of Jesus, Giordano heisted “massive boulders” he found down the hill from our house and fashioned an impressive fire pit in our yard. I gathered my crystals from around the house and brought them outside to soak up the lucid lunar rays.

I’m wild about men with primal skillz. When the apocalypse is upon us, like who cares if dude can install the latest version of iPhoto on my computer. (Though I SORELY need some help with that NOW… haha.) But Giordano is one of those men who can build and fix anything. He made a mean fire.

Sharp autumn wind gusted in dramatic spirals, taunting and provoking our fire, sending its smoke and flames every which way. At one point, the force of the wind was so fierce and constant, the fire growled like a blowtorch, and blazed florescent yellow like a newborn sun. This was the moment that I poured my grief, confusion and heartache into the purifying flames. I had much to offer up.

This is why I have pilgrimaged to Athena Graceland on my hands and knees this morning… To write myself back into a state of wholeness and peace. A feeling of deep discomfort has been taking increasingly articulated form and contour for the past week, as the moon has swollen.

I hope it’s a spiritual boon to break down like this… rather than a mild crisis. Before leaving Ananda, I felt like I was going Somewhere: Building a business leading women’s circles, gestating an extraordinary podcast… and then I transported my and Serena’s life to a foreign land, where I can’t even indulge in the simple ecstasy of intimate, philosophically persuaded small talk with “strangers”… or leave the house to go for a leisurely walk (The road outside is narrow, trafficy and dangerous to walk on. Plus, I left Serena’s fabulous, all-terrain stroller in California.) I feel like a Grimms Brother Princess, locked away in a tower.

Obviously, writing a book is my only salvation.

As I move closer to the Realization of this extremely relevant and meaningful dream, I watch it turn to vapor and slip through my long, slender fingers. I am perplexed as I search inside for a cohesive vision that equals a Book. I imagine this confusion is a form of self sabotage. A genius strategy for the unhealed dimensions of me to stay hidden and SAFE.

Bah-humbug. Seriously. Like whatever happened to the version of reality where I could simply merge with my computer, gush forth and pound out the inspired and integral streams of my Existence. This is what I do. And have always done.

My “block” is the departure from simply “writing”, to developing a STRUCTURE, and then using my profound literary talent to fill it with FORM.

In the words of the beloved little Engine That Could, “I think I can, I think I can, I THINK I CAN.”

(OMG, I totally have to get that book for Serena… An aside: It’s so depressing to have only a handful of books for my book-devouring Serena. We left her collection in Cali. Frown. Plus there ain’t no libraries in these parts with books in english to imbibe… If any of you are inspired, you could bless us with a rad children’s book by way of Amazon!…)

Did I adequately portray my existential angst to you? I don’t think I did. But it’s been thick and filmy and arduous to endure. Like going for a jog at the bottom of the sea.

At least things are improving with Giordano. He still triggers the shit out of me pretty regularly… but it doesn’t feel like the end of the world. We both bounce back from our fiery disputes impressively quick… and when we do, there is a deep love awaiting our return. I imagine if I had other people around to meet my deep need for Quality Time (my primary Love Language), I probably wouldn’t get so swept away in the masturbatory eddies of hating his guts.

Yesterday morning at the zenith of my suffering, I took Serena outside to forage nettles and red clover. Misha the cat graciously tagged along. Like good old fashioned magic, the grief vanished. I dissolved in Presence, delighting in the aliveness of Nature all around. Note to self~ when the discomfort becomes unbearable, (maybe even BEFORE), GO OUTSIDE. Go outside A LOT. Revel in the majesty of the sky. Sink into the soothing, rooted ISness of the earth. Ugh. Except our harsh and cruel friend, Winter doth approacheth. BLAH. I never wanted to see Her color-drained face again. Jesus deliver me to the tropics.

Inside I feel a call to surrender my Life. My dreams. My need to be “Somebody”… Be sincerely cool with the notion of stripping down to a state of unadulterated BEingNess. This is subtly terrifying for me. Like if I relax my tremulous body in the uncharted waters of “Nobodyness”, I will die invisible and untethered from the execution of my Dharma. This could be my deepest fear. One that ebs and breaks like a familiar wave on the sea of my Life Journey.

This surrender is not resignation. It is a surrender woven with golden threads of faith. Faith that it is impossible to outrun my Destiny. She is hunting me, and will inevitably devour me. This achingly slow, no-woman’s-land is somehow essential preparation for my Glorious Becoming….

Life always moves along Her own mysterious and perfect spirals of Time.

Today I’m wading thigh deep in feelings and questions that I’d rather not share. I feel vulnerable and out of control, and I’d rather not make waves. I don’t want to be misunderstood or condemned. But isn’t this tender place where writing actually comes Alive? Maybe. Or maybe I should just roll out my yoga mat, and keep with the private process of silent digestion…

Nah. That feels like hiding. My inner life is pressing on me from the inside. The pressure is begging for creative release. But just know that my words are PROCESS. Not Ultimacy.

I’ve been sitting in the YES to marrying Giordano for a few days straight. I’m still learning how to operate as a highly emotional being in this world. The best way seems to be to roll through waves of feeling across time, without reacting. Just being curious and observing. Then, after the wave has made what feels to be a complete arc, I am “qualified” to make a choice, or take an action. (The antithesis of my knee jerk facebook campaign to get the fuck out of Italy a moon ago.)

I’ve ridden this most recent maverick marriage wave across a few days. I’ve sat with the panoply splash of opinions and perspectives of friends. And God, let me tell you… this is damn challenging- the work of receiving perceptions, projections, advice of those whom I love and trust… while maintaining a clear connection and knowing of my inner voice/Self.

Despite my dumbfounded mind, I feel a sustained YES inside to “tying the knot” with Giordano. Haha it really might BE a knot. Two lives (plus children and innocent bystanders) all hopelessly kinked up…

Listening to Matt Kahn’s latest youtube video last week, was a turning point for me. It was called “The Apathy of Options”. The essence was that our notion of myriad choices is actually a function of capitalism and consumer consciousness. When we are “in the flow”, aligned with Truth, purely relaxed into the moment, the illusion of choices dissolves, and what remains is Destiny’s continuously opening Way.

I can see this being a very controversial perspective. Choice is such a popular notion amongst the transformational circles I have run with for my entire adult life. “I choose chocolate because I choose chocolate. Bitches!”

When I look backwards at the Life that has lived me, it has always been this way- I have lived a miraculous epic that I could never have imagined or invoked of my own paltry volition. Something waaaay more immense has called the shots, moved the pieces, conducted the superlative orchestra of Existence.

Moving to Italy and marrying Giordano is no exception.

The part that I am struggling to come to terms with, is that I never imagined getting married would be like this. I thought I’d be “so in love”… Certain that I was with the “man of my dreams”.

But as a writer and an ultra-sensitive “experiencer”, I kinda like that it’s not this way. I come to the table with wildly mixed emotions. A hopeless collision of thoughts. It was epiphanic when I realized that this echoing choir of inner voices and resistances are all trying to save me from future pain and hardship.

And yet the track of Destiny continues to smirk as she lures me forward. In the name of spiritual evolution. In the name of undeniably intimate with my true nature. In the name of a damn good story.

I don’t feel like I have any other REAL options right now. And this comes as a relief. More empowered than victimized. I’ve relished imagining I could fly back “hOMe”, to California, and get on with my life. But the truth is that I have no life there. That life is but a flattened flipbook of memories now…. Conflagrated in the mystical act of BEing Alive.

What would I do in the Bay Area? Couch surf (with my almost three year old) for a month at best? Get a nanny job? Or become a checker at an over-priced health food store and put Serena into preschool full time, so that I could almost afford to pay an exorbitant amount of rent… meanwhile squeezing my creative dreams like juiceless limes, praying for a few tangy drops to splash forth, first thing in the morning or last thing at night? Continue to grind myself down in hope-stained disappointment that my relentlessly beloved baby daddy is still not available to be the Partner, family and support that I ache for? Wishing that my friends were not so busy in their own survival-based hussle, so that they could be there for me in mine???

No thanks.

So I’m here with my irritating but entirely devoted Italian Man. Swimming in a wild, enlivening swirl of mixed feelings. And despite this chaotic and reticent inner climate, the God in me is shining a Green Light. Italy has claimed me as Her own. The dramatic, psychedelically persuaded, Maxfield Parish clouded, thunder-sprayed skies have seduced me. The pale, crumbly earth drinks my bare feet, as She pours forth her bounty in the name of blessed sustenance.

In this shadow-strewn, blessed iteration of my life, I have the support necessary to write a book. Serena has a dad who truly loves her as his own. Once married, we can apply for government assistance because we have a child. And this will pay for Serena’s preschool. Ananda preschool. She is so ripe for this developmental leap. Friends, creativity, expansion.

During my recent, knee-jerk, fear stained, dramatic upheaval, my friend Joan illuminated in me, a proclivity for living in “fantasy land”. Well… I feel pretty damn sober now. My priorities are: creating stability for my girl, who is EVERYTHING to me, and writing a fucking awesome book. When given a life that is richer and more riveting than the best fiction… writing it down is really the only option.

And of course, through all of this, I yearn to learn something real and enduring about the nature of love.

This morning, I’m writing to you from the Graceland fallout shelter. Snuggled amidst rubble, I nurse a large mason jar of bulletproof coffee. My favorite handmade (by me) lotus flower mug smashed on Giordano’s tile floor upon my return from my walkabout through the scapes of self-inflicted hell.

The next morning, I sliced through my ring finger with a dull knife during an agitated attempt to seed an avocado. It has been like this.

OMG. I took myself and my community on such a wild ride, post new moon, partial solar eclipse. Flames stoked by the alchemy of my choices, my shadow and the current astrological forecast raged and danced Shiva’s seemingly cruel, but ultimately loving dance inside and I couldn’t take it sitting still. Instead I wriggled and squirmed and cried out “ABUSE” of facebook, begging for money to return to California.

My desperate wish was granted with stunning abundance.

Then, as you saw in my last entry, the Master Puppeteer otherwise known as God Almighty, pulled some curious strings, and orchestrated another meeting between Giordano and I. Despite the sizable mess, there was still so much love.

I continued to stay at the archangel Dhuti’s house throughout our emotionally charged ReUnion. Despite the depth of love between him and I, the fire was still growling and throwing off occasional, dangerous sparks. Staying in her tiny, peaceful oasis was a luxury refugee vacation.

On our final day, as mischievously giggling Destiny would have it, was the meditation and breathing workshop of Manuela Forte. This had been scheduled for months, and Giordano helped organize it. I really wanted to meet Manuela, as she is a very pure channel of Light; an angel who has been holding and blessing Giordano and me (and Serena) and our collective healing journey.

We sat outside atop a great hill, beneath a regal and beneficent oak tree. Giordano’s mother was among the few attendees. As an aside, I am really struck by her. My life MUST be an epic novel… or God certainly would not people it with such stunningly vivid washes of color and depth of field. Raphaella is a strikingly small woman. But strong. The sort of strong fashioned by a life of hard knocks and victorious summits. Thin, wiry frame, slightly hunched back, adorned in consistently vivid colors. Thick, shoulder-length hair, strawberry blond from a bottle, but it seems an utterly natural expression of her profoundly creative essence. I imagine she has fought many battles alone (with God) and won a good few. Her love is fiery and unmistakable.

Upon completion of the workshop, my emotions were calmed. My heart soft. From this space, it was clear that I must stay in Italy. Manuela held me in a close embrace and spoke into the Beyond within my eyes as she reflected that she saw a young couple deeply in love. A family… And that this LAND has medicine for me. I know this is true. I feel a softly synergistic helix, elegantly twisting upward from my feet, through my crown as I walk upon Her soft, giving body. The dramatic, puffy clouds astound me, constantly. The humidity caresses me.

After the said post-eclipse “fallout”, a few people reflected to me that I really ought to take a pause on writing. Because I was obsessively pouring forth so much DRAMA into the virtual sphere of facebook. There was a deranged imbalance in my output. A compulsive quality. Perhaps it was time for me to retreat to a benevolent corner and just breathe.

I’m taking time out from facebook for a bit. But I’ll NEVER stop writing. Taking in Life and pouring out words is what I’m made for.

Joan told me to “take a fucking no bullshit look at what I’m actually committed to”… and I saw that using my writing gift to garner the riveting and cheap thrill of attention from friends on social media was at the top of the list. For this, I felt ashamed. For a flash, I was tempted to abandon my post as an astounded teller of the Story of my Life.

But here I am again. Telling with abandon. Passion gushing from my fingertips and saturating your own intimate cracks. That’s what I am for.

So here I am, wondering. Wondering what Life is asking of me now…. This frenzy of heavily carbonated, shaken energy that ‘sploded through me… has left me quite dismantled. Somewhat humbled. Too much “good advice” was flung my way. But Suzanne’s words stuck with me. She said get off the social media ferris wheel, which is a dead end road, keeping me semi-entertained and stuck. Work harder than I’ve ever worked before, to create stability, especially for my daughter.

Yes.

And.

Life keeps Life-ing…. And I’m not sure what to do. Into which groove do I pour myself? Do I humble myself once more and clean toilets, vacuum dirty floors and make mostly delicious soup as I did in Nevada City with a baby fixed to my hip? I imagined and hoped it was time to spread my wings and FLY. To write something worthwhile. To generate my online women’s circles. To boldly claim my genius. But now I’m back on my knees in the muddy rubble born of emotionally impulsive choices.

Obviously the FIRST order of business is to spend more time with God. Silence. Stillness. Breath. Humble Receptivity.

Feels like I was violently KO’d in a fight with my own self. A needless, masturbatory fight. I am still seeing birdies and stars. And even the world’s biggest swig of gatorade is not setting me straight.

Honestly, I believed sex would be my salvation. Maybe you don’t understand this… Many priestess types who serve to reconnect women with their sexual power say the same thing… that when we are connected with our Sex, we are connected with our Self.

Giordano and I have been OMing (orgasmic meditation) every day. I am starting to feel what Nicole Daedone means when she speaks of being “full”… And I am still confused.

I want to pour copious love on all my shadowed nooks and deep carved crannies and TRULY heal= return to love.

Romantic love is so misrepresented. Committing to Partnership is rigorous, grueling work. To show up every day and choose to let go again. Forgive (and laugh) even when you want to kill. Choose to be loved, when it seems way too compelling to close and punish.